Debatable
by ViBookWorm
Summary: "John Watson used to have a soldier's instincts and reactions. Sherlock Holmes had cared about John Watson. Whether it had all been worth it was debatable." Very angsty little ficlet. Major character deaths. Probably could be T but I'm really paranoid.


John used to have a soldier's instincts and reactions.

That they were a good thing for him to have had was debatable. Especially if you asked Sherlock.

John's time in the army had taught him that you need to be on constant guard for anything. _Anything_ that could come at you. Being on guard constantly was tiring but it had saved his life more than once, and when a bullet finally hit him he had had time to start twisting in the opposite direction so the bullet went through his shoulder not his heart. Even after the army he had remained always watching, alert for any threat that might come his way.

Another thing taught in the army was comradeship. Protect your mates. Look out for each other. Nothing matters but the team. These mantras drummed into him day in and day out for years had definitely had the desired effect, John not only was on the lookout for any danger to him but also for danger to the people with him. It allowed him to pull others down or jerk them out of the way in time. It saved lives.

But it also ended a life.

John had been the one to spot the fallen criminal bringing the hidden gun up and around, John had been the one to shove Sherlock out of the way. This time John had no time to twist, the bullet found its mark and John Watson dropped to the ground with a sickening thud.

Sherlock can remember those frantic moments with an earth-shattering clarity. After shooting the triumphant gunman through the head, he had dropped to the ground beside John, hands flying up to cover the spreading tide of scarlet.

"John! Stay John! Stay with me, you'll be fine! Stay with me. Keep your eyes fixed on me!" His tone had been broken and desperate. Never before had the great Sherlock Holmes fallen to pieces like this. He wasn't an idiot, he knew where that bullet had entered and he knew there was no way that John could be saved.

John knew too. A small, pained smile had graced his face and he struggled to speak. A red bubble of blood burst on his lip before he finally managed to whisper "Goodbye Sherlock." before his head fell back and those stormy blue eyes became unfocused and glassy.

Sherlock had let out an agonized, muffled scream and he had known, even as the sirens reverberated through the night that it was too late for John Watson. Too late for everything that mattered. Because John had been the only thing that Sherlock had ever wanted. A friend. A confidante. A person who cared.

John used to have a soldier's instincts and reactions.

That they were a good thing for him to have had was debatable. Especially if you asked Sherlock again.

That was why he was standing here on the edge of this building with a sense of relief. Moriarty was dead, the dark pool of blood spreading out behind his lifeless head, his face frozen in a smug grin. He had told Sherlock in no uncertain terms that if he didn't jump Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly Hooper would be shot.

Sherlock wondered, as he left a recorded goodbye message on his phone, if he would have jumped anyway, if it would have just been a matter of time. Because if he was honest with himself, his world had ended along with John Watson.

As he hit the pavement and bones shattered and broke, as life departed from his body, Sherlock was the freest he had been since John's death.

Sherlock Holmes had cared about John Watson.

Whether that had been a good thing was debatable. Especially if you asked Mycroft.

The expression on Mycroft's face as he stared down at the two graves lying side by side, could only be described as annoyed. In his opinion the whole fiasco could have been avoided if Sherlock had cared less about that army doctor, after John's death Sherlock had made mistakes. Mistakes that had led to the scene on the roof of St. Barts.

As the man known as the 'British Government' turned away and began making his way back across the cemetery, the two headstones became clear.

They said simply the names of the two men who lay there. But the unusual thing was the wreath of flowers linking them together, it wasn't bought from a shop but made by hand. A tearful woman named Molly Hooper had placed it there that very morning, in her opinion they were the best thing that had ever happened to each other and they had both been far too young to go.

John Watson used to have a soldier's instincts and reactions.

Sherlock Holmes had cared about John Watson.

Whether it had all been worth it was debatable. By anyone.


End file.
